Jiang Yang had no further instructions, so he said gently:
"You may go."
"Yes."
Cong Huaijin answered, then raised her head to ask:
"But this is my first time shouldering such a great responsibility, and I fear I may overlook something. If I encounter a matter I cannot decide upon, may I request an audience whenever necessary?"
The moment she spoke, Cong Huaijin felt an almost tangible gaze fall upon her head, as though it had seen straight through her. Unease stirred in her heart, and she could only marvel at the majesty of divine powers, not daring to entertain the slightest stray thought.
"Go ahead and act freely. You need not seek approval for every matter or ask about every detail. If you truly cannot make up your mind, then come to me."
Jiang Yang looked elsewhere as he spoke softly, neither yielding entirely to her request nor shutting the door on it.
"Yes. This disciple takes her leave."
Having received an answer that satisfied her completely, Cong Huaijin obediently withdrew.
Countless tedious matters had come one after another. His status really had changed; Jiang Yang had never felt so busy before. Now, at last, he had some peace.
He sat beside his desk, took the velvet feather letter from his sleeve, and read it again.
Yun Zhen did not seem particularly adept at writing letters, or perhaps she had never written one before. She had poured everything she wanted to say into it, leaping rapidly from one subject to another, sometimes with no connection between one sentence and the next.
On his first reading, Jiang Yang had shaken his head and chuckled. He could almost see Yun Zhen behind her desk, chewing on her brush as she racked her brains. Apparently, she had written whatever came to mind,